


Unconditional

by i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole



Series: Tony Meets the In-Laws [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Assassination Plot(s), Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Graphic descriptions of injury, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Odin's A+ Parenting, Past Child Abuse, Promises, Protective Loki, Scheming, Schmoop, Thor Is Not Stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole/pseuds/i_am_a_mole_and_i_live_in_a_hole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Odin sends Tony an impossible-to-refuse invitation to the summer solstice, Loki fears for his safety. Tony's a lot more worried about what might happen to Loki when they get there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unconditional

**Author's Note:**

> This *was* going to be for the domination/submission prompt on the 30 day OTP porn challenge, but just wound up being cuddles and promises of steadfastness. Which is fine by me; I really, really needed something to get rid of the bad taste "Unspoken" left in my literary mouth.
> 
> Also, I wrote a really long and poorly structured tumblr entry about this whole "Odin's bad parenting' thing. TL;DR is that I tend to headcanon Odin as being a horrible, horrible parent to both Thor and Loki, but not really intentionally so: http://happygutters.tumblr.com/post/83023133222/thoughts-about-fandom-and-my-tony-stark-meets-the
> 
> Oh, and the whole potential-Tony-assassination thing is inspired by an incident that happened during the youth of Frederick the Great of Prussia.

          He found Loki in the bedroom, peeled out of leathers that lay on the floor in a careless heap, lying on his side on the bed wrapped neck to ankle in the comforter with a phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low and urgent.

          “Miss Romanoff— _yes,_ it’s me. Your safety is not in jeopardy on my account. I’m in no mood for—do as you please, if you need a moment to switch on your recording devices I will be happy to give it to you. I’m contacting you for Stark’s sake, not my own. He has received an invitation from the Allfather himself to attend the midsummer solstice—it would not be prudent to turn it down. Yes, an _extraordinary_ insult. But I—it’s not a good thing, Romanoff. This isn’t my doing. Look, I care _not_ what security measures you feel you must take, someone from your organization _must come with him._ Of course I’ll be there, but— _yes,_ Thor will be there too—but we are not representatives of Midgard. Yes, I can engineer it. Or have Thor invite you, if you prefer. The invitation will likely have to come from him regardless. But _do not let Stark go alone to Asgard._ No, I don’t know. I would tell you if I knew. But this is not normal, Romanoff—ask Thor if you don’t believe me. Mortals are _not_ invited to celebrations in Asgard. Something is wrong. Yes, go right ahead, talk to my brother or to your one-eyed man or to whomever you must. I will await your call. Yes. Goodbye.”

          Then he hung up the phone and stuck his hand out of the comforter-cocoon to leave it on the nightstand a few inches from his face. He retracted the hand back under the blankets, snuggling deeper into them until only grey-green eyes and a mop of dark hair were visible. Tony, standing just at the edge of where he expected Loki’s peripheral vision would begin, cleared his throat. “Hey.”

         Several fingers poked out of the blanket and fluttered at him. “Stark.” Loki’s eyes turned to rest on him. “Do me the kindness of telling your teammates that this is not a plot to kill them, at least not on my part.”

          Tony would have chuckled, but the look in Loki’s eyes was far too serious for that. Instead, he gave a nod and padded across the floor in his stocking feet, pausing before the bed. “Do I get any blankets?” He clambered up over Loki onto the bed as the god unrolled himself partway from his comforter burrito, lying down as Loki turned over onto his left side so that they were face to face and nearly flush against each other, Tony’s jean-clad legs tangled with Loki’s bare ones under the blankets. He pillowed one arm under his head and let the other rest loosely over Loki’s waist before he continued quietly: “Do you… do you really think it’s going to be that bad?”

          “It cannot be anything _but_ bad. The Allfather…” Loki’s brows creased, eyes sliding away from Tony’s face to focus on a spot just to the left of his head. “This _does not happen_ , Stark. The Allfather does not esteem mortals so. And my association with you… it is not a good thing.”

          “Asgard’s a little homophobic, huh?”

          “Not _all_ of it.” Loki’s burning gaze was almost painful in its unusual honesty—brought about by unusual fear. “But the Allfather would not approve. Things have… _happened…_ to lovers of mine before. Even for Thor—Jane Foster would never have been allowed past the _gates_ if father had the chance to protest—and _she_ , at least, is a woman. But in truth, Stark, I don’t know if that has anything to do with this. I don’t know _what_ my father’s plans are. I haven’t been home since my… _vacation…_ ”

          His left eyebrow twitched as if in ironic amusement at the reference to his own sentence, though he knew that in truth neither of them was amused.

          Tony had never gotten the full details of exactly what had transpired after Loki had been brought back to Asgard. All he knew was that several months later, Loki had crash-landed into Stark Tower with his mouth sewn shut, his chest, back, buttocks, and thighs covered in burns. Those on his chest were mostly fluid-filled and blistering, the rest largely burst and leaking blood and clear serum along lines that were consistent with long, straight wounds, arranged in even formation and crossing over each other at 80-degree angles, where Loki’s skin had the appearance of having been split like an over-ripened fruit. Each of these wounds had about two fingers’ worth of thickness; around the edges they were bright red and leaking blood, dark streaks of bruising visible on the unopened surrounding areas of flesh, white subcutaneous fat visible in the center of each cut. His joints had been bruised and swollen, his ankles the same size as his calves, hands darkly discolored and stiff to the point of immobility. Under the cuts and the blisters were dark brown and yellowing scabs and oblong scars that bore silent witness to a long period of rough treatment.

          That had been enough. Tony wasn’t a _forgiving_ person, per se, but Loki was extraordinarily witty and could be downright sweet when he wasn’t trying to kill you, and there was something about the experience of listening to your sworn enemy crying in pain under _your_ hands as you tried to pull threads scabbed into partly-healed flesh from his mouth which drained the desire for vengeance. It only disturbed him further to notice that despite the massive number of open wounds there was very little infection and no permanent damage, hinting at a meticulous and terrifying level of planning on the part of the one responsible for the torture—whom Tony immediately assumed to have been Loki’s own _father,_ because who else could it have been?

          _‘Even a hunter cannot kill the bird which flies to him for refuge,’_ went the proverb, and Tony… well, Tony couldn’t help but agree.

          Later on, Loki and Thor never described what had happened by name. They gave it euphemistic referents: “back then”, “that time”, “the last time I was home”, “when you went away”, and the miserably-spoken correction to the latter, “when you were _sent_ away”. Beyond those first, frantic conversations they’d had when Loki had first shown up at Stark Tower—

_“Father has ordered that you return.”_

_“I’m not going. Thor… look at me. I can’t.”_

_“Loki, I… I’m not going to make you. I’m sorry.”_

          —Tony had no idea what, if anything, had passed between them about it.

          Yet now, according to Loki, there was little choice.

          No, Tony wasn’t exactly _pleased_ at the prospect of being hauled off to Asgard as an unwilling diplomatic envoy under threat of war or assassination, but…

          “I think,” Loki admitted softly, eyes trained on the ceiling, “This is probably about me. And I…”

          The swallow sounded raw in his throat. “I…”

          “Shhhh.” Tony kissed him. “It’s not your fault.”

          “Stark… I’m so sorry.”

          “You didn’t ask for this. And anyway, I’m sure I can handle one measly holiday in Asgard. I mean, I’m Tony fucking Stark.” The engineer made himself grin, making Loki roll his eyes.

          “And,” he went on, quieter, “Honestly… I’m a lot more worried about what’s going to happen to you when we get there than I am about what might happen to me.”

          Loki was listening, his grey eyes dark and serious. Tony reached out and interlocked their fingers, pulling Loki closer so that the twining of their hands was the only thing that lay squeezed between them.

          “And I want you to know that whatever happens, I’m not going to leave you there. I didn’t ask about what happened before because I didn’t want to invade your privacy, but… I assume you realize by now that I didn’t like it. And not _just_ that—my family wasn’t as much of a problem as yours, but I know enough about difficult families to realize that the kind of parental attitude that allows what happened before to happen in the first place doesn’t come out of nowhere—even if it’s subtle enough that a lot of people don’t see it. And even if your father is on his best behavior the whole time, I’m not going to forget that. You won’t hear me telling you that he doesn’t seem so bad and you should give him another chance. I’m going to assume that you learned to manipulate people from _somewhere,_ and no matter how benign it seems, I am not going to let you stay in Asgard and I am not leaving you alone.”

          “Oh, and, uh, I _did_ already phone Thor about it, by the way.” Tony coughed sheepishly. “He agrees with me, and he’s promised to fly us out if it becomes necessary.”

         Loki was silent for a moment, staring at Tony with shining eyes. Then he was enveloping Tony in a fierce, crushing hug, clinging to him as a drowning man clinging to a rock in a storm-torn ocean.

          “Stark.” The voice was rough with emotion. “You crazy, stupid, _stupid_ man. What in all the hells of Niflheim could I _possibly_ have done to deserve you?”

          Tony hugged him back, squeezing tightly. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. You didn’t have to _do_ anything. I just liked you. And plus, you’re _amazing_ in bed.” That got him an open-handed slap to the back of the head.

          “Hedonistic ass.”

          “So’re you.” He snuggled up closer, tucking his head under Loki’s chin. “But I love you.”

          He was very aware of the pregnant pause, the minute stiffening in Loki’s spine, the words caught at the back of his lover’s throat, but he wasn’t hurt—he knew Loki didn’t use words like that, not when he meant them. So he stroked his hand in small circles between Loki’s shoulders and added “You don’t need to say it. It means more than enough to me that you were worried enough to actually call Natasha. I’m not sure even I would be brave enough to do that.”

          That earned him a snort.

          “Anyway, Loki—I _do_ want to say it, because whatever happens when we get there, I’m with you, and barring anything that it’s not in my power to prevent, I won’t be going anywhere.” And if unconditional love could have even the minutest fraction of the power Disney movies liked to imbue it with, perhaps it would be able to overwhelm even the power of the Allfather.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr as happygutters (porn, fandom) or mari-the-mole (everything else).


End file.
